


The Spy and the Movie Guy

by queenofchildren



Series: Just Like James Bond. Pretty much. Well, almost. [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Fluff, M/M, movies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 19:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10255718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: Even an international super spy makes mistakes sometimes. But when Nathan Miller accidentally approaches the wrong person about some sensitive intel, he discovers that life doesn't have to be all about the mission. Sometimes, it's about catching a movie on a Wednesday night, with too much popcorn and the cutest movie fan in the world by his side.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This came about due to some cheering on by @leralynne and a tumblr prompt abot a spy who accidentally approaches the wrong informant with a pop culture code-phrase and sort of decides to keep seeing them.

As far as informant meet-ups go, this one is pretty much by the book: Walk up to the informant as he stands in the agreed-upon spot, say the code-phrase and wait for the reply, then steer the conversation towards the intel – in this case, a flash drive with enough dirt to incriminate a bunch of people involved in a variety of illegal activities.

Sure, the meeting-place is a bit out there, perhaps – a ramshackle little movie theater that looks like it’s been frozen in time in the 1950s. But while the flickering neon sign, threadbare red carpet and faded gold ornaments of the ARKADIA are unusually atmospheric for a simple informant meet-up, Miller decides he likes the place. It’s got charm, and it reminds him of going to the long-closed Tivoli theater to watch old Westerns with his Dad.

It’s also not a bad choice for a place to subtly make contact: Shortly before the start of the evening’s feature films, the lobby is filling up with people, buying popcorn, meeting up with friends and looking at the posters and movie paraphernalia lining the walls. For a moment, Miller is surprised how busy the place is on a Wednesday evening, then he sees the posters advertising the weekday’s reduced-price promotion. All the better, he thinks - no one will pay any attention to him when he steps up to the man currently standing in front of the poster for _Hidden Figures_ , holding a gigantic bucket of popcorn and looking at his phone with a dismayed expression.

He sort of fits the description he sent he agency beforehand: Asian, late twenties, dark, floppy hair, regular to slim physique. (Although Miller wonders if that wasn’t a bit too modest a description – the guy’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and despite its loose fit, there’s undeniable definition to his arms and chest.) Still, the description doesn’t have to fit 100%, he knows – that’s what the code-phrase is for after all.

Miller slowly makes his way over, taking a moment to study each poster until he’s finally standing in front of his destination. The man hasn’t moved, which only cements Miller’s belief that he is in fact the contact he’s looking for.

Picking up a leaflet with the theater’s current program, he thumbs through it for a moment before he pretends to quote from it:

“Katherine Johnson knew: once you took the first step, anything was possible.”

The man looks around for a moment, trying to find out who Miller is talking to – which, alright, may be a little theatrical, but if it makes him feel safer about this endeavour, Miller won’t make him feel bad about that. Then the man apparently decides that he’s devoted enough time to the surprised act, and turns towards Miller to look at him – and startle him thoroughly with his beaming smile and happy exclamation:

“You read the book!“ When Kane sent him the code-phrase, Miller hadn’t imagined hearing the informant’s reply with quite so much enthusiasm – usually, these sort of meetings are quiet, subdued affairs where everyone is trying to draw as little attention as possible. But here, in this place that looks like it fell out of time, and on this guy who seems like he can probably muster up enthusiam for anything, it works somehow.

Miller nods, a little thrown by the impossibly bright smile directed at him.

“It’s pretty good. I wanted to see if the movie can keep up.“

“Oh, it definitely can,“ the informant nods, still every bit as enthusiastic. “I’ve watched it three times already, and I bawled my eyes out every time.“

This is getting stranger by the second. Sure, the code-phrase was related to the movie, but usually, they’d have moved on from their original smoke screen of a topic to, well, exchanging the _actual_ information. So Miller does something he doesn’t usually have to do: He prods.

“So, you got anything for me?“

There’s a note of confusion on the other man’s face now, but after a moment’s hesitation, he nods towards the giant bucket of popcorn he’s holding.

“The popcorn’s pretty good here. And I bought way too much because my asshole friend cancelled on me last-minute.“ Another hesitant beat, shorter this time. “We can share, if you like.

Miller suppresses a sigh. It happens sometimes: Informants get freaked out at the last minute. At least this one hasn’t skipped out on him entirely. Now it seems Miller just has to calm him down enough to get that data.

“I would like that.” He smiles, warm and inviting, and can tell from the way the other man’s eyes widen that the charm did its trick. The whole “seduce and confuse”-approach isn’t normally his thing (that’s Bellamy’s specialty), but he can flirt his way into a target or informant’s trust in a pinch. Still with his warmest smile in place, he holds out his hand. “My name’s Miller, by the way. Nathan Miller.”

The informant smiles back and Miller notes absently that ignoring his grumpy and aloof nature in order to crank out some charm isn’t as much of a chore as it usually is.

“Monty.”

The door to the auditorium next to them opens at this moment, the usher allowing in the first guests, and Monty steers determinedly towards him, supposedly to enjoy his fourth screening of the movie. Miller curses quietly at the thought of potentially wasting two entire hours on this simple assignment, no matter how good the movie, but follows him anyway. He has no choice if he wants that flash drive, but there’s a tiny part of him that is also intrigued by this man, who seems fairly normal but then goes around endlessly rewatching movies so he can cry about them.

He is also, Miller realises five minutes into the movie, the kind of person who _comments_. A lot.

Which, under any other circumstance, would annoy the hell out of him, because Miller likes to watch his movies in stoic silence and then think about them alone afterwards. He does not need to analyze things as they happen on screen, or to hear little fun facts about the actors or the filming, or to hear other peoples’ opinions on the movie before they’ve even finished watching. And yet, that’s exactly what Monty provides – and Miller finds that he likes it.

Because Monty, it turns out, is funny as hell and smells very good, both of which Miller finds out when he first leans across the armrest to comment on soomething, and soon the flash drive is completely forgotten as he’s nodding along with Monty’s commentary and stifling inappropriate laughs and leaning in a little more each time Monty inclines his head towards him.

“I swear to God, if they don’t give Taraji an Oscar for this, I will riot,” Monty declares, then adds sheepishly: “On Twitter, at least.”

Miller laughs softly, and when he looks at Monty, the light from the movie screen dimly illuminating his face, the other man is looking back at him, eyes wide and mouth parted slightly, and Miller knows what it means from countless hours of body language interpretation courses. He also has a pretty good feeling that he himself is looking much the same way right now. And Miller realises, right there in that darkened movie theater, that he’s _fucked_. Not only has he now wasted almost two hours and is still no closer to getting that data, but, he realises, he’s enjoying himself far too much. There’s a pleasant little hum inside him every time Monty leans closer to share his thoughts on the movie; shoulder brushing against Miller’s, warm breath rushing past his cheek, his low whisper vibrating through Miller’s over-alert body, and Miller goes from “international super spy” to “teenager with a crush” within the span of less than two hours.  

He’s almost relieved when his phone lights up, minutes away from the end of the movie, and there’s a message from Kane to distract him from this torture.

_SOURCE SAYS YOU NEVER MADE CONTACT. WHAT HAPPENED?!?_

Shit.

Shit shit _shit_.

Monty isn’t his source.

Monty is simply a chatty, funny, incredibly cute cinephile who has nothing better to do than befriend the other poor souls who are damned to go to the cinema alone.

And then, for the first time in possibly ever, Miller has an unprofessional thought as Kane’s words fully register: _If Monty isn’t your source_ , a selfish little voice whispers in his head, _that means you can see him again_.

And so, when the movie ends, Miller doesn’t rush off back to headquarters immediately, as he should. He turns to Monty as they’re filing out of the theater and says:

“This was fun. Wanna do it again some time?”

Monty stops in the middle of the hallway, throwing the ordered exodus of moviegoers around them into disarray, to stare at Miller for a moment. Then that smile makes another appearance, just as startling as the first time.

“I’m here most weeks for the Wednesday special.”

This time, Miller doesn’t have to consciously bring himself to smile back – it happens all on its own. “See you next Wednesday then.”

Monty nods, looking a little overwhelmed, and Miller actually winks at him giddily before he remembers that he needs to _go_ and lets the crowd sweep him towards the exit.

The lightness in his chest lasts all the way back to headquarters, and not even the prospect of having to explain his monumental fuck-up can ruin it.

He should definitely go to the movies more often, Miller decides.

***

 

The debrief goes over better than expected – Kane isn’t exactly pleased, but Miller has never majorly messed up before, so he lets it slide. The only awkward moment comes when Bellamy asks:

“So if the man you thought was the informant didn’t give you any intel, what the hell were you doing at that theater for two hours?”

Miller can only reply dumbly: “I watched the movie.”

Luckily, this is where Kane’s passion for psychology saves him: Instead of reproaching Miller for not ditching the useless non-informant, Kane actually praises him for gaining his trust.

“Sometimes an informant isn’t ready to get into the details right away. In such cases, building up a rapport is crucial.”

Bellamy huffs and Miller grins smugly and all but floats home that night. Against all odds, he got out of this fuck-up with nothing more than a mild reproach. Kane already managed to re-establish contact with their source and convinced him to try another pick-up. And in less than a week, he’ll see Monty again.

***

 

Nathan Miller has snuck past Fort Knox-worthy security measures, jumped off cliffs, faced down armed assassins, and fought his way out of a whole bunch of seemingly impossible situations. And yet, he’s never been more nervous than he is now, standing in front of the ARKADIA on a rainy Wednesday to see _La La Land_.

Monty is nowhere in sight, and for a short, stupid moment Miller thinks he forgot about their not really a date-thing. Or perhaps he decided to avoid the creepy dude who randomly quoted stuff at him and then followed him into the cinema to steal his popcorn?

But just as he’s about to lose his nerve and leave, he spots a shock of dark hair, and then Monty is standing before him wearing jeans and a striped shirt and the same impossibly bright smile he wore last week.

“Hi!” He says breathlessly, then adds: “Sorry I’m late. My bike refused to cooperate.”

Miller wants to blurt out that he almost thought he wouldn’t show at all and admit how fucking happy he is that he did, but then the usher calls out that their movie is about to begin, and they hasten inside.

The experience is exactly as great as the last time, quietly shared jokes and Miller’s heartbeat speeding up every time Monty’s shoulder bumps into his, and Miller knows with sudden clarity that he never wants to give this up again.

He’s back next week for another Oscar nominee, and then the week after that, and of course they’re catching _Moonlight_ the week after the Oscars. But watching movies soon becomes secondary to just _meeting_ Monty, and soon his favourite thing about Wednesdays is standing in the lobby after the screening to go over every little scene until they’re asked to leave because the ARKADIA is closing for the night. Instead of ending the conversation there, Monty suggests they head to a nearby coffee shop, and with a cup of hot coffee in hand, it’s easy to move on from the movie to other topics, some more related (favourite movies, books, musicians) some less. When the conversation eventually turns to their love lives and Monty mentions that he’s bisexual, Miller can’t stop smiling the next day at work.

Tonight, Monty is nursing his second double Americano in preparation for a night shift to update some company’s IT system. Miller briefly considers helping him out with a caffeine pills, one of the many supplements available to him at the agency and strong enough to keep anyone up for days. But of course that would only raise questions, so he stays silent, sips his Cortado and listens as Monty animatedly explains that this upcoming job will be the most challenging thing he’s ever done and he can’t wait to get started.

Miller briefly considers telling Kane to look into recruiting Monty at the agency, where he could have a new challenge to freak out about every day. But he knows he won’t, because a selfish little part of him knows that Monty is the only thing in his life that the agency doesn’t have a say over and wants to keep it that way. Their Wednesday evenings; movies and too much popcorn and stories from life as a normal person with a flat share and a cubicle desk and a nagging Mom – these evenings are _his_ , and his alone.

“I’m sorry, listen to me rambling. You probably just want to go home and sleep, and here I am raving about boring computer stuff.”

“No!” Miller replies, so quickly and ferociously Monty draws back a little. “I don’t mind listening when you talk about your work. It sounds like you’ve got a really cool job ahead of you.”

Monty’s already smiling again. “I really do. But I’m still going to stop talking about myself. I feel like we never talk about you.”

Miller swallows hard. Monty’s not wrong, their conversations do revolve more around Monty than around him – but then, there’s a reason for that. He can’t share much about his life with Monty no matter how much he wants to – and boy, does he want to. He’s come up with a cover story that isn’t too far from reality and told Monty that he’s a police officer, training to be on a swat team. It’s a good choice, because it accounts for showing up with a black eye or talking about harsh training sessions, and he knows a little bit about it because of his Dad. It’s not the same as talking about what his life is _actually_ like, about the amount of government-sanctioned snooping and stealing and, yes, _killing_ he’s done so far in his short career. But it’s better than not talking to Monty at all.

Monty seems to accept the story in any case, although his look of relief when Miller says he has nothing to do with cyber crime tells him he should definitely never mention Monty’s name around Kane. And probably also find out a little bit more about his new buddy before he gets any more… attached. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to get access to the agency by befriending or seducing one of its agents, and while Miller always thought that couldn’t happen to his sarcastic, bristly, mistrustful self, that was before he met Monty.

The thing is, with his boundless enthusiasm and determination to have faith in the good in people, Monty brings an outlook on things into Miller’s life that, after years of spying on people, has been almost completely lost. But Monty’s no wide-eyed ingenue: He’s astute and perceptive, and his moral judgment, when he can be persuaded to judge anyone or anything at all, is as harsh as it is absolute – and this too is refreshing, because in Miller’s world, pragmatism is king, grey areas are his preferred place of action, and too often he has to make choices expecting to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

Still, it takes a long time for Miller to finally admit to himself just how hard he has fallen for his accidental friend. But then a mission goes sideways, a bullet slips past the edge of his kevlar vest and buries itself in his side – and all Miller can think is that it’s Tuesday and getting shot most likely means he’ll miss movie night.

Then he blacks out.

***

 

It takes over a week until Miller is awake and lucid and strong enough to make a phone call from the hospital phone. Luckily, he still knows Monty’s number by heart, because he never saved it in his phone and only ever contacted him from various burner cells to make sure Monty can’t be easily traced back to him – a safety precaution he hates but that comes in handy now, seeing as his phone is trashed beyond repair.

When Monty picks up the phone and says his name, Miller’s throat tightens for a moment because he’s so happy to hear him – and so scared Monty won’t want to talk to him, given that he bailed on their last movie night without so much as an explanatory text.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“I’m sorry I stood you up,” Miller blurts out.

“Nate?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t think I’d hear from you again, after you stood me up and didn’t even text. _Twice_.”

This is the part where he needs to explain, Miller knows – but instead, his mind gets caught on that last little word.

“ _Twice_?”

There’s a moment of silence at the other end of the line, then the sheepish response: “I returned the week after that. I thought maybe you’d show up and explain… I’m a hopeless rom… optimist like that, I guess.”

Miller’s heart skips. Did Monty just almost call himself a “hopeless romantic”, thus implying he thinks of them in romantic terms?

God he hopes so. And decides, then and there, that if Monty forgives him, he’s going to make one hell of a big romantic gesture as soon as he gets out of this hospital.

“I can explain now.”

“You don’t have to. It’s your time, you can spend it however you like, with or without me.”

“I’m at the hospital, Monty.” Miller says bluntly, suddenly impatient. He needs Monty to understand, which means he needs to explain. “I got shot.” And then because that feels like it might raise a lot of questions and because he just remembers his very convenient fake backstory, he quickly adds: “While I was on patrol.”

“Shit, Nate, I had no idea! I’m sorry I gave you flak for standing me up…”

Miller laughs softly, then stifles it immediately when pain twinges through his chest.

“You couldn’t know. For all intents and purposes, it looked like I stood you up, and I’m sorry.”

But Monty won’t be appeased. “No, you don’t understand! You know how when you get stood up, your friends try to cheer you up with all these wild explanations?”

Miller doesn’t, really, but then Murphy and Bellamy are hardly the kinds of friends he confides in about his love life.

“Well, my friend Clarke tried to do that when I told her, she suggested that maybe you were caught in a shootout, and I….” he breaks off, strangled, then continues with an anguished voice: “I actually said “he better be”! I’m a horrible person, Nate!”

Now Miller can no longer hold back a fond laugh, chest pain be damned. But he’s filled with such warmth and affection for this man who came out of nowhere and is the definition of that silly “precious cinnamon roll”-meme and made his life 1000 per cent better.

“You’re not a horrible person, Monty. You were hurt, I get it. And it’s not your fault I got shot. Things went South, it happens. I’m recovering now, okay? They moved me out of the ICU into a regular ward and everything. Just…” He swallows, suddenly nervous. “Just don’t watch Guardians of the Galaxy 2 without me, please?”

“Are you kidding? That won’t be released for another month! I’m not waiting _that_ long!” There’s a brief pause, and Miller wonders hopefully if it’s due to nerves on the other end as well. “Which hospital are you in? I’m stopping by as soon as I’m finished here.”

Heart feeling like it’s about to burst, Miller gives him the name and address of the hospital, and Monty promises to swing by as soon as possible. Which means two things: He’s going to see Monty again soon. And he’s going to need a shower and some clothes that aren’t hospital-issued, and pronto.

Unfortunately, by the time he’s achieved that, there’s still no sign of Monty, and Miller already feels exhausted again, an unfortunate side effect of recovering from a bullet wound. No matter how much he fights it, soon his body succumbs to the tiredness, and he nods off.

When he wakes up, Miller wonders for a moment if he died in that shooting after all.

For one thing, his room smells like popcorn. For another, there’s a giant Marvel logo hovering in mid-air before him, and it takes him a startled moment to work out that it’s actually projected onto the wall. The projector in question is set up on one of those tall hospital bedside tables. And next to it, clicking around on the laptop attached to the projector, is Monty.

“Hi,” Miller croaks, and Monty looks up and almost drops his laptop in his haste to set it down and rush over to the bed.

“Hi! How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, I guess?” Honestly, right now he’s mostly very confused. “What’s going on here?”

“Well, I figured since you missed our last two movie nights, we could just catch up here.”

Well, clearly, Monty beat him to his big romantic gesture.

“How the hell did you get the nurses to let you do this?”

Monty shrugs, but there’s a hint of pink appearing on his cheeks that disproves the attempt at casualness. “I may have told them a bit of a sob story.”

Miller grins – knowing Monty, this is going to be good. “Oh yeah? What did you tell them?”

“Well, I told them you’re my boyfriend and that it’s our one year anniversary and we were planning to celebrate it at the cinema where we had our first date, but with you getting shot and all…” He blurts it out all in one rush, then shrugs again. “They were all very moved.”

Miller would laugh because honestly, with that talent for lying, Monty would probably fit right in at the agency. But Monty isn’t laughing right now – instead, he’s suddenly looking very nervous.

“I hope that doesn’t bother you.” He swallows visibly. “It’s a little hard to imagine, you and… well, me.”

The vulnerability on his face makes Miller feel like his chest is bursting, and he’s relatively sure it’s not because of the gunshot wound. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s taken Monty’s hand and pulled him closer.

“I don’t think it is.” Monty’s eyes widen, and Miller loosens his grip on his hand, but only enough so that he can softly trace the lines on his palm. He shrugs, then wonders if his nervousness is as apparent as Monty’s was just now. “In fact, I like the idea.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Because I like you. And I like watching movies with you, and as soon as I’m out of here I want to do that again but as a date, and….”

He doesn’t get any further, because suddenly Monty is kissing him and Miller has no idea what he was even going to say anymore. He tastes like caramel popcorn and minty chapstick and he feels like the best thing that ever happened to him or, for that matter, earth in general. It’s only when he rises up from the bed, chasing Monty’s lips a little too eagerly, that pain shoots through his chest and reminds him where he is and why heatedly making out may not be the best idea just now.

But then, there’s always time for that later, after they’ve watched the movie and he’s recovered some more.

“So, what movie did you bring?”

Monty presses play on his laptop, then promptly clambers back onto the bed as the movie starts playing.

“The first Guardians of the Galaxy, obviously.”

Miller makes an appreciative noise and burrows into Monty’s side, a little overwhelmed by the fact that this is now something he’s allowed to do. He no longer needs shoulder bumps and almost-touches across an armrest to sustain him – he can just snuggle right on up to Monty.

Monty himself is unusually quiet for once, perhaps a little overwhelmed by all the developments as well, and it gives Miller time to think. Finally, his brain zeroes in on one particular puzzle.

“You know what still baffles me?”

Monty transfers his attention from the screen to Miller and waits for him to explain.

“A stranger walks up to you, starts randomly quoting a book and then demands that you give him some of your popcorn. Why did you not get the hell out of there immediately?“

Monty smiles, and the faint trace of red on his cheeks flares up once more, to Miller’s delight.

“The way I remember it, a super hot stranger walked up to me, hit me with the best pick-up line I ever heard, and then wanted to share my popcorn. I thought I was dreaming at first.“

Miller feels his own cheeks heat up a little as well.

“The best pick-up line you ever heard?”

Monty nods earnestly, and Miller has to admit, he has a point. Beside him, Monty grins.

”And I mean, it worked for you.“

“Yeah,” Miller agrees and leans in for another soft kiss, just because he can. Some day soon, he’s going to have to explain to Monty what was really behind that pick-up line – but not just yet. “Thank God it did.”


End file.
